A NOTE TO GEORGIA MOUNTAIN AND WESTERN N C WRITERS

(a note from Scott Owen)

Hi, All, 

I'm very excited to be coming back up to the mountains to participate in Writers' Night Out on June 14 and lead a workshop at The Writers' Circle on June 15.  I hope you'll be able to join me for both events.

I'll be reading at Writers' Night Out at Brother's Willow Ranch Restaurant in Young Harris on June 14 at 7:00.  I'll have my new Selected Poems CD and copies of all of my books, including the newest, Shadows Trail Them Home from Clemson University Press; For One Who Knows How to Own Land from FutureCycle Press; and Something Knows the Moment (a Next Generation-Indie Lit Book Award finalist) from Main Street Rag available for purchase and signing.

Then, on Saturday morning (June 15), from 10 to 1, I'll lead a workshop called "The Essential Practices of Writing" which will focus on four habits all writers need to foster.  The workshop will include invention strategies and revision, but I will discuss any aspect of writing that participants are interested in.  If you'll be at the workshop, email me a question or topic ahead of time, and I'll be sure to cover it.  You're also welcome to email me a poem for possible use in discussing approaches to revision. This is my third workshop with The Writers' Circle, and every time I have discovered new poets I like as well as poems I want to include in Wild Goose Poetry Review, so I'm looking forward to seeing what discoveries I can make this time.

Register for this class by sending a check for $40.00 to Writers Circle, 581 Chatuge Lane, Hayesville, NC 28904

Please spread the news about these two events by forwarding this email to anyone you know who might or should be interested or by posting information about it on any social network you participate in.

Thanks,

Scott Owens
www.scottowenspoet.com
www.scottowensmusings.blogspot.com
www.poetryhickory.com
www.wildgoosepoetryreview.com
www.234journal.com
www.poetrycouncilofnc.wordpress.com

Cicadas Returning

On Saturday morning, May 25th as soon as I stepped outside my door, heard and recognized their sound as if it were a high-pitched electronic buzz,  I knew millions of screaming cicadas had returned after 17 years to the tree tops of Cherry Mountain. Say again, where have they been for 17 years? Not dead but hunkered down under the earth at the  base of the same trees we look at day after day, year after year. The nymphs woke up, and now they're adults, climbing the trees, ready to mate. 

Magicicada Septendecim, sometimes called "the pharaoh cicada"  is a two inch insect of Brood II of the eastern US, found in New York from Albany and western Connecticut down through the Appalachian Mountains into the piedmont of Georgia.  Broods are identified by region, by cycle length of 13 or 17 years, and the years in which they appear. They are a large insect with a black head, red eye, and they have the longest life span of any other insect. These now on Cherry Mountain  are not the annual cicada that come out in late summer every year. This Brood II rises only after their 17 year hiatus. By June 30th, they will go silent again. 

The first time I heard the cicadas was when I moved to Cherry Mountain in the 1960s. I stopped at the foot of the mountain to get my mail out of  my mailbox, and there stood  Preacher Cable, pointing up and saying "The locust are back now screaming Pharaoh. Pharaoh." I could not get that song out of my head. Over the next few weeks, I wrote the poem  posted below, "Cicadas Returning."

Cicadas Returning

by Nancy Simpson

My neighbor waits

at the mailbox

for no other reason

than to tell me

they are back now

screaming Pharaoh, Pharaoh.

He asks if I know

they speak

a language of resurrection.

I say I don’t know anything

about Cicadas except

I’ve read they live

most of their lives

under the ground.

He says I should stop 

at the switch back

if I want to hear them.

I thank him for telling me

***

but I care little

about insects,

so I stop against my will,

turn off the truck motor

and stand alone on the

lower mountain curve, listening,

curious about any creature dead

all those years with so much life.

Ten thousand of the little 

big-eyed gods crowd my day,

joyous at high pitch:

Pharaoh, Pharaoh.

There will be none homeless

and plenty of food for all--

the lush green leaves of my trees,

enough to feed an army.

***

Come to their senses

they fly

cicadae

cicadae

their small stomachs

throbbing

again and again

the same verse

ten thousand voices

retuning, yes

memory of the song

played for me

rising 

through treetops

and I am going

down the road, singing.   

--Nancy Simpson This first published in Wayah Review
Reprinted in LIVING ABOVE THE FROST LINE
at Carolina Wren Press (2010)

Flame Azaleas grow wild  in the Southern Appalachian Mountains. Flame azaleas come in varying shades of orange, deep orange to a more yellow-orange. These (below) grow and bloom in the dense woods on Cherry Mountain.

We also have a pink wild azalea (below) that was transplanted to Cherry Mountain from the wild of Rocky Face Mountain in Dalton, Georgia in the late 1960s. 

Flame Azalea can grow as tall as a tree, as this one photographed recently on Mother's Day at Hamilton Gardens on Lake Chatuge near Hiawassee, Georgia.

Poet Bettie M. Sellers 1926-2013

Poet Laureate Bettie M. Sellers of Young Harris, Georgia died in Hayesville, NC on the evening of May 17, 2013.  A memorial service will be held in her honor at 2:00 p.m. on Monday, May 20th at Sharp Memorial Methodist Church in Young Harris, GA.



Bettie M. Sellers was named Author of the Year in 1979 by the Dixie Council of Authors and Journalists. She received the Governor's Award in the Humanities in 1987 and in 1992 was named Poet of the Year by the American Pen Women. In 1997 Governor Zell Miller named Sellers as the poet laureate of Georgia, a position she held for three years. In 2003 she received the Stanley W. Lindberg Award (named for longtime Georgia Review editor Stanley Lindberg), which recognizes outstanding contributions to Georgia's literary culture. The Georgia Writers Association gave Sellers a lifetime achievement award in 2004.

More About Bettie M. Sellers: Search this site: Bettie M. Sellers was featured as Poet of the Month March 1, 2009 during her birth month. Also search for The Poet Looks Up, Three Poems  on this site.
"The Ruby Glass Spoonholder" a laureate poem by Bettie M. Sellers on this site. 


  Books by Bettie M. Sellers: Westward From Bald Mountain, Spring Onions and Cornbread (1978), Liza'a Monday and Other Poems (1986),Wild Ginger (1989), Reprinted  (2006),  and Morning of the Red Tailed Hawk (1987).


http://www.amazon.com/Bettie-M.-Sellers/e/B001JP3K0M

REVIEW OF BEAT CHRONIC PAIN BOOK written by Maren O. Mitchell

Maren O. Mitchell’s Beat Chronic Pain -- An Insider’s Guide offers her reader this specific hope -- Return to Your Life: Ways to Confront and Relieve Pain Through Avenues Other Than Drugs. Another title for this book could have been How To Ignore Pain.

  

The book spoke strongest to me when I read these words:  “How to deal with the 

enemy--(Pain) Ignore him--write him out of your life.”  Maren O. Mitchell‘s positive approach is practical as well as intensely personal. She promises, “Pain does not take well to being laughed at.  When ignored, “It sort of shrinks up and slowly slinks away.” 

There are in this book a number of specific activities for beating pain. One suggestion is to practice an imaging exercise. You are told to remember “a place and a time when you were stress free, pain free, healthy and strong, safe, loved, happy. Go there and gather images, colors, textures, movement” and more. “Savor the pleasure of being there” and “let your time there give you happiness right now.” See exact instructions on pages 67-71.  The author admits her “favorite place to imagine and travel to is “a two room cabin....that my father built beside a stream in North Carolina.”

I enjoyed reading this book and liked knowing Maren O. Mitchell is a writer and a practicing poet who writes to ignore her pain. A number of her poems are sprinkled throughout the book. Her poems have been also published in some of the best American literary magazines such as Southern Humanities Review, Journal of Kentucky Studies, Wild Goose Poetry Review, and in the anthologies, Echoes Across the Blue Ridge and Sunrise From Blue Thunder.

The different approaches that this author offers to help you ignore pain are valuable.  I understand that a person who wants to beat chronic pain does not have to write poems to get relief. That is not the point. Practicing imagery,(which is a technique of poetry)  going back in memory to a favorite place, has been proven to relieve pain, even if you do not write it. During imagery, your mind stays busy for a period of time, for minutes even hours, allowing you to ignore your pain.

If you suffer from chronic pain or you love someone who does, I encourage you to buy this book, read it, find solutions to use and to share.

Book Review written by Nancy Simpson

How to order

http://www.amazon.com/Beat-Chronic-Pain-Insiders-Guide/dp/0985311908

Line of Sight Press

PO Box 1103 

Young Harris, Georgia 30582

http://nancysimpson.blogspot.com/2009/08/three-poems-by-maren-omitchell.html

"During National Poetry Month, Living Above the Frost Line celebrates Debra Kaufman, a poet with a keen eye and a sharp focus on humanity." 

--Nancy Simpson

THREE POEMS by Debra Kaufman

French I

Où est la bibliothèque? Voila la bibliothèque.

Quel temps fait-il? Il fait froid aujourd’jui.

I chanted French phrases in bed like prayers,

pleased with the way the language shaped

my mouth, ma bouche: lips puckered for tu

as if playing the flute, then softened like a kiss for je.

English words sounded like hammering on wood,

but translated en français they lilted and fell

like music or small birds.

Fermez la porte means shut the door.

petit dejeuner is breakfast,

de tout mon coeur, with all my heart.

Et alors… Jean-Pierre lifted my hair,

murmured into my neck, “You’re too good.”

And for the rest of that year I didn’t know where

the library was or whether the temperature

was froid ou chaud. As the class recited

je vais, tu vas, il va…, I could see myself

in a silk slip on a picnic, tipsy with champagne,

kissing, we’d be kissing the way the French do.

What I longed for then was beyond

language as I knew it, it was pure image,

or impure, mon Dieu! and my future?
My future was present, present perfect.

from A Certrain Light, first published

in The Idependent

Summer Solstice

The steamy morning 

teems with promise.

Today is the longest day.

Today I am opening.

It’s small changes 

and the cycle of days

I mark as holy

that sustain me now.

To crave solitude like a new lover

you can never get enough of—

is this good?

Love can die and even if born again

is weakened by the wounding

and the resurrection.

But sometimes—surprise!—

joy flies in like a jay.

It squawks, tilts its defiant head

as the cat slinks near.

What is eternal but the circling?

And now the katydids begin to sing,

kiss me, kiss me.

From The Next Moment, first

published in Pembroke Literary Magazine

SUNNIES

The sun had not risen
when I slipped into the kitchen

and saw my father at the sink,
where he never stood.

He did not order me back to bed,
but turned and gently

showed me the gold
he’d reeled in himself.

Their scales glittered like fairy wings.
He called them sunnies,

his voice a low rumble
like the night train that slowed

as it passed through town.
He too was always leaving.

He smelled of the lake and coffee,
happy and sad together.

The dome light shone on the cold linoleum
and a sifting sort of lavender

air made me shiver. A wren
chittered in the weeping cherry.

I stepped my bare feet onto his huge brown shoe
and balanced there.

Previously published in Wild Goose Poetry Review

Check out Debra Kaufman/s 

latest poetry collection, The Next Moment, from 

http://www.jacarpress.com/the-next-moment

Announcement on the Penultimant Day of National Poetry Month

Announcement on the Penultimate Day of National Poetry Month

Three stars shine bright in the south. Southern Independent Booksellers Award recently announced three poetry finalist for the SIBA Poetry Award 2013: Kathryn Stripling Byer of Cullowhee, NC for Descent, George Ellison of Sylva, NC for Permanent Camp and Natasha Tretheway of Athens, Georgia for her collection Thrull. 

Karen Paul Holmes - Featured During National Poetry Month

Karen Paul Holmes is one of my favorite rising poets. She is listed with Poets and Writers of America. Her poems have been published in Atlanta Review, Poetry East, Sow's Ear, Wild Goose Poetry Review and in several anthologies including Echoes Across the Blue Ridge and Sunrise From Blue Thunder. She is a resident of Atlanta and Hiawassee. Georgia.

Karen Paul Holmes 

DRAWN INTO CIRCLES

Last evening, I placed fresh towels on both dog beds, 

heard scratching and rearranging in the night. 

This morning, each dog lay curled

into a circle of towel 

like a bird’s nest.

How life loves

a circle: 

the sun

cups of tea

pizza, roses, embraces

wedding rings, cathedral domes

bells with fat notes radiating like ripples from skipped stones

the egg, the womb, the round opening, downy heads

suckling mouths, breasts, full stomachs, eyes filled

with delight for bubbles and bouncing balls.

Why do we box ourselves into corners

put our babies into rectangular cribs

build square houses and boxy buildings

drive cars to perpendicular crossroads

stare at newspapers, monitors, dollars

go to our rest in hard-edged coffins,

slowly lowered into matching graves?

It’s a comfort 

to imagine our rounded bones

becoming round bits of the globe, 

our spirits rising to orbit among spiral galaxies,

joining those who completed the circle before us.

by Karen Paul Holmes

published in

Poetry East, Spring 2010

Your Daily Poem, April 10, 2010

The Best of Poetry Hickory Reading Series (Main Street Rag) 2011

Reach of Song, Georgia Poetry Society, 2012

National Poetry Month - Celebrating Poet Joan Ellen Gage.

It's National Poetry Month. My goal this year is to celebrate southern and Appalachian poets. I called for poems that celebrate life itself, poems that especially honor human life and the human spirit.  

Today, Here Above the Frost Line, we celebrate poet Joan Ellen Gage. She lives part of her year in Florida and the rest in the mountains of Western North Carolina. She has two collections:  Water Running Downhill and Embracing Your Inner Cheerleader.

BY DESIGN

by Joan Ellen Gage

What is a breast?

It is, by design, in its simplest form

A source of nourishment

A literal “fountain of youth”

A breast is an ornament

Of the flesh, ascetically varied,

Rounded, pillowed, or arched

An achingly beautiful sculpture of nature

A breast is a haven

For comforting small humans

Or sheltering family and friends

With arms and bodies enfolded tightly, as in prayer

A breast can also give or receive

Pleasure, with our partners

As active participants

In the mating dance of life

A breast is the epitome of the heart

Of womankind, as with our breasts

We nurture, comfort, and love.

That is why we hold them so dear

Through breast cancer, women may

Lose these deeply personal pieces

Of their flesh, that share so much

And give succor to life

But, we must remember that

Women are the origin of strength

In this world, and with or

Without breasts, we are the same!

We will still nurture

We will still comfort

And we will still love

We will do this, by design

from Water Running Downhill

For Tina and all of her sisters

The Invader Within

by Joan Ellen Gage

Was the cause environmental,

Or was it family genetics?

How did this happen?

Perhaps, it was just karma

Bringing me this dark, unwanted gift

This cancer

The alien DNA

Hidden in the structure

Of the genome

Its time bomb releasing

Microscopic invaders burrowing

Into tissue, my tissue

Facing myself in the mirror,

Today, chopping long dark hair

Shorter, and shorter still

Wondering who is this stranger

Who stares back

Stone-faced and resolute?

I begin this deeply personal

Uphill battle, or is it downhill?

Warrior stance—I am ready

“Let’s do this!” to my husband

We travel silently to chemo

Unspoken words blowing through

Our minds like autumn leaves

He holds my hand as we begin

IV dripping, we watch morning TV

Oblivious to the screen, thoughts

Still flowing, overflowing, synchronized

With the IV releasing the drug/poison

I will it to find the interloper

“Seek out the alien intruder, now!”

Many weeks have passed, now

Time has slowed to a turtle’s pace

I have sat in that recliner

Many hours, with needle piercing my flesh,

Chemo flowing, a soft cap covering the baby fuzz

Where my hair used to be

I turn my mind inward, pray and give thanks

Liquid ninja’s course through my veins

“Finish it”, I pray, “amen”.

from Embracing your Inner Cheerleader

For Sheryl and all her sisters

More about the author - click on her site.

http://www.joanellengage.com/

Comments and words of encouragement that celebrate poetry

during this special time of year will be appreciated. Below.